


In The Same Bed

by thebittermountain



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types, Wonder Woman - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Acceptance, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, F/M, Happy Queer Characters, Healthy Relationships, M/M, Multi, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-20 11:52:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13717125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebittermountain/pseuds/thebittermountain
Summary: Clark, Diana, and Bruce are exhausted from a Justice League battle. Instead of going to Bruce's mansion like they normally do to recuperate, Clark flies them to his home in Kansas, because his parents have been nagging him to bring someone home since he was in college and he's tired. No, he didn't think this through. But it ends happily anyways.





	In The Same Bed

**Author's Note:**

> Warning, this is unbetaed, so apologies ahead of time for any glaring mistakes. 
> 
> A French translation will appear as soon as I have the time (and I would appreciate a beta by a native speaker if anyone's interested. Tell me in the comments, please.)
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

Diana yawns, too tired to even really open her eyes as Clark lands them on the ground. Their last battle had taken a toll on all of them. The rest of the Justice League had all headed to their respective homes and bases after having finished the paperwork Bruce always made everyone fill out. She yawns again, and blinks as she realizes they aren't at Wayne Manor. It's too quiet, and she can hear the peculiar whir of wind turbines in the distance. She turns to Clark, trying not to fall over, and forces her eyes to open. To her surprise, her usually calm lover seems nervous, chewing on his lower lip and blinking rapidly.  
“Clark, what’s wrong? Why are we not at Bruce’s?” she asks. He shrugs before glancing at the top of Bruce’s head. Diana can’t help smiling as she follows his gaze. The younger man has dozed off with his head on Clark’s shoulder, and is now lightly snoring. Clark catches her smile and returns it in his own typically sheepish way, ducking his head and running a hand through his hair before he says,  
“Well…we ended up closer to Kansas than Gotham, Di. And…my parents have been bugging me to bring home ‘some friends, Clark. You never visit any more, and we get worried.’ I kind of just thought ‘why not?’ when I noticed where we were. But then it’s just…well…this is the Midwest…” He trails off, and Diana frowns at him, now wide awake.  
“Clark, what difference does where we are make in anything?” Clark shifts, shuffling his feet, avoiding her eyes. Bruce blinks his grey eyes open, looking slightly disoriented. He lifts his head from Clark’s head, for which the other man shoots him a small smile that confuses Diana further. He pats Clark gently on the shoulder before saying, voice still rough from sleep,  
“Ana…the Midwest is traditionally conservative—old-fashioned—and Clark is trying to say he’s worried about his parents’ reaction to us. Being together.” Diana is still not satisfied with that answer, but before she can ask anything else, the door of the farmhouse they’re standing before opens, and a woman’s voice calls out,  
“Clark Jonathan, is that you?”  
  
Clark takes a deep breath, trying to calm down—after all, he’s doing what his parents have asked for years, isn’t he? —before saying,  
“Yeah, Mama. And I finally gave into to your nagging and brought some friends home.”  
“Clark Jonathan!” His mother’s voice is sharp, but she’s smiling as she runs down the porch steps. He opens his arms and she slams into them, hugging him tight. He relaxes a fraction and muses about how surprising it always is that she’s shorter than him now. Mama always has had a larger presence than her actual height. She steps back, still smiling at him, and he winces slightly as he notices a familiar glint in her eyes. Mama always has had a mischievous streak in her, and he knows she’s going to mess with him at some point tonight. But he knows there’s no way for him to prevent it—he’s tried, and so has Pa, but Mama can be a force of nature—so he just introduces Di and Bruce as she steps forward to shake their hands.  
“Mama, I’d like you to meet Diana of Themyscira and Bruce Wayne, two of my best friends in the world.” His mother’s gaze sharpens, and he tenses, but all she says is,  
“Diana, Bruce, it’s lovely to meet y’all. I apologize for Jon, my husband, not being here to greet you as well, but he’s still out in the fields. Though I think…” she trails off, looking up at the setting sun. Out of force of habit, Clark copies her. “He should be heading back soon,” she finishes. Clark turns to look at Bruce as the other man clears his throat and says,  
“It’s quite alright, ma’am. I have to apologize for us dropping in on you with no warning.” Clark tries to hide a smile as his mother is temporarily shocked speechless. Bruce has the most blatantly northern New Jersey accent, though of course, no one knows that because Batman uses a speech modulator. The first time he heard Bruce speak without it, he couldn’t believe people really spoke like that. Naturally, Bruce can’t hear it at all. And to be fair to him, Bruce can’t believe some of Clark’s colloquialisms and has said so multiple times. Clark regains control over his amusement as his mother regains her voice and says,  
“Not at all, Bruce. Please, you and Diana both must call me Martha. Jon and I have been asking Clark to bring home some friends ever since he helped found that Justice League with you and the others.” Clark coughs, trying to hide a snort. That was blatantly untrue—Mama has been nagging him to bring home a ‘friend’ ever since his freshman year of college in Metropolis, usually with Pa shaking his head gently with amused embarrassment behind her. He controls himself and stands up just a little straighter as Mama glares briefly at him before she says, “Now, why don’t y’all come on in? You look completely exhausted. Jon and I saw that fight of yours on the TV this morning, and I can’t believe y’all aren’t more hurt. Except for Clark, of course.” She pats him on the shoulder, and he snorts slightly. She smiles up at him and shoos them all inside.  
  
Martha Kent sneaks looks at her son’s friends as he helps her put together some sandwiches and drinks. Both Wonder Woman—Diana—and Batman—Bruce—are very attractive. Hey, she’s married, not dead. And they both seem to care a great deal about him, judging from the concerned looks they keep shooting him as he walks past the kitchen doorway, as well as the glares Diana keeps shooting her when she thinks Martha isn’t looking. Martha sighs. She has a feeling she knows what that’s about, considering how tense and unsure her son had looked as she walked out of the house, and the way he’s holding himself now.  
“Clark, sweetheart,” she says, catching the attention of her gentle, caring, and right now very distracted son.  
“Yes, mama?” he asks, his eyes stubbornly on the tomatoes he’s chopping instead of meeting her own. She sighs again and puts a hand on the one of his that’s not holding a knife. He jumps, spraying tomato juice and seeds all over the counter and floor. She clicks her tongue and grabs a dishtowel, bending to wipe down the floor as he, red-faced, does the same for the counter. She tosses the towel in the hamper she keeps by the basement door and rests a hand at her lower back. She really needs to go to the chiropractor if she’s going to keep bending like that, she thinks, before asking,  
“Sweetie, what’s got you so on edge?” Clark, still wiping a now spotless counter, throws a glance over to the doorway, confirming her suspicions before he answers her with the same brightness he would use when he was young and scared of his powers.  
“Nothing, Ma. I don’t know what—” she cuts him off with a wave of her hand, and a loud,  
“Clark Jonathan Kent! When did I teach you how to lie to your mother?” Before he can respond, she hears the scuff of a chair being forcibly pushed back, and a muffled,  
“Sit down, Diana! Now is nawt the time!” Obviously, Clark hears them too, if his mangling of the dishtowel he’s still holding is any indication. Martha clears her throat, raising a brow at her son when he doesn’t say anything.  
“Clark, sweetheart, are you going to answer my first question? Honestly?” When her son begins to rip the dishtowel in half from his twisting of it, she steps a bit closer. To her horror, her son steps back, away from her. She doesn’t attempt to follow. Instead, she says, “Clark, honey, you know we love you, right? No matter what? We just want to be part of your life. Even now that you’re moved out and we’re old.” Clark’s eyes are glistening, but he manages a choked laugh before saying,  
“Mama. Y’ain’t old. And, I want that too. I just…I just don’t…” He breaks off, his eyes even shinier, and Martha opens her arms.  
“Come here, baby. Just cry on me, and then maybe we can talk about what’s bothering you.” Her tall, strapping son, a former football player, takes a shuddering breath, suddenly looking as fragile and vulnerable as he had when he was a baby she found in her husband’s field. She smiles at him, her own eyes wet, trying to infuse the expression with all the love she feels for her baby boy. He cautiously takes a few steps toward her, then practically runs into her arms, thankfully restraining his strength so she only sways, rather than being knocked over. She squeezes him tight, hot tears silently tracing a path down her cheeks as his head falls to her shoulder, and her plaid shirt begins to dampen. When his body starts shaking, she rubs his back in a gentle, circular motion like she did when he was a child and couldn’t get to sleep after a nightmare. After his sobs have quieted, she says softly,  
“Clark, if my teasing and nagging, or anything else your father or I did gave you a reason to think that we wouldn’t always love and accept you, I am so, so sorry. We never, ever wanted to hurt you. Your happiness is more important than anything else to us, to me. You’re my baby, and I am so sorry.” As she finishes talking, Clark lifts his head, his long eyelashes still beaded with moisture, but the light back in his eyes. He squeezes her back, lifting her up off the ground.  
“Thank you, Mama,” he whispers. She shakes her head.  
“No, don’t thank me, sweetheart. I should have never let you doubt my reaction.” He smiles at her.  
“Still, Mama, you’ve taken a load off me.” Martha winces, still feeling guilty, but smiles back at her son, and says,  
“Well…do you want to introduce me for real this time?” He ducks his head, running a hand over his hair, mussing it, before saying,  
“Sure, Mama. C’mon.” She walks with him into the living room, the sandwiches and drinks forgotten.  
  
“Mama, I’d like you to meet my husband, Bruce, and our girlfriend, Diana.” Clark gulps as everyone’s eyes are suddenly on him. Di and Bruce just look startled, but Mama has that gleam in her eyes again. He sucks in a quick breath and counts to three. Sure enough, on three, she says,  
“Clark Jonathan Kent! You’ve been married for three years and you neither invited or mentioned it to your father and I?” He winces.  
“Ma…”  
“Don’t you ‘Ma’ me, young man. You are having an anniversary ceremony next time the date comes around. Bruce? When did you two get hitched?” Bruce, who looks he’s trying to restrain laughter and stay awake at the same time, coughs and says,  
“November 1st, ma’—Martha.” She nods, and Clark is beginning to panic again, especially when she says,  
“You’ll invite all your friends, then? Jon and I’ll invite Smallsville folks.” She turns to him and pats him on the shoulder before adding, “Clark, honey, don’t worry. We’ll check the guest list with you first.” He lets out the breath he’s been holding and promptly chokes on it as his mother says, after brushing a grey-streaked strand of brown hair out of her face, “So, Diana. When are you going to make an honest man of either of them?”  
“Mama!” he yelps as soon as he can breathe again. His mother turns to him, her face a mask of innocence.  
“What, sweetheart? I pay attention to the news. Why don’t you both marry her? It’s legal now, and you obviously love her just as much as you love Bruce.” Clark knows his face is bright red, and Di starts guffawing, probably at the expression that’s accompanying his blush. Bruce starts chuckling too. Mama’s grinning. Clark puts his face in his hands, seriously regretting his decision to introduce them to his mother.  
  
After a few minutes, Diana finally manages to stop laughing, and she says,  
“Thank you for the feedback, Martha. But my culture doesn’t allow women to be bound to men, and I have little interest in marriage. So…probably never.” Martha gets a thoughtful smile on her face, and Diana grins. She’s beginning to like this woman, her beloved’s mother, though she was prepared for an entirely different reaction.  
“You mean you’ve never thought about having them take your name or something, and changing the vows?” Martha asks, smiling back at her. Diana shrugs.  
“Well…no. The last time I was in a committed relationship with someone, marriage wasn’t even a thought.” She doesn’t add that that was during World War I—she figures reminding her lover’s mother of the large age gap between her and Clark is probably not the wisest idea. Bruce snorts, interrupting her thoughts, and both she and Martha look at him curiously. He waves a hand, his eyes crinkling at the corners, saying,  
“Don’t mind me, I just had an entertaining thought.” Diana gives him a skeptical look, raising a brow.  
“Oh really?” His lips twitch like he’s trying to restrain a smile, and finally breaks down into laughter.  
“I just thought about your mother’s response if you told her you were getting married, Ana.” She and Clark catch each other’s eyes, then both begin laughing as well. Martha is staring at all of them in clear confusion, so Diana takes pity on her.  
“I’m fairly certain that my mother’s head would explode if I told her I was getting married to one man, let alone two. While it would be entertaining to watch, I’m not certain it would be worth it.” Martha coughs suspiciously, her eyes alight, and Diana smiles back at her, yawning. The other woman’s expression immediately becomes apologetic.  
“I’m so sorry! I’ve kept you three awake, and basically interrogating you when I’m sure you really need sleep,” she says. She pauses, looking thoughtful, and then that glint returns to her eyes as she adds, “I would offer you Clark’s old bedroom, but the bed’s not big enough for the three of you. But there is a pull-out in the basement that’s just big enough if you don’t mind squishing.” To Diana’s considerable amusement, Clark flushes a bright red, but manages a fairly calm,  
“Of course, we don’t mind, Mama. I’m just glad we’re not imposing.” Diana and Bruce both chuckle quietly as Martha draws herself up and says in a mock-offended tone,  
“Imposing, sweetheart? How could you possibly be imposing since you never visit?” Clark groans, and the rest of them burst out laughing. Finally, Martha regains her equilibrium and says, “Alright, to bed with y’all. Jon and I will see you in the morning.”  
  
Martha quirks a smile as the exhaustion of the three superheroes in front of her clearly returns with a vengeance. She’s not even sure their eyes are completely open as they stumble down the steps behind her. Once she has finished making up the pull-out, Diana, Bruce, and Clark collapse on the bed, on top of the covers, without even removing their shoes. She closes the door softly at the top of the stairs, but she probably didn’t need to: all three are completely out. She smiles at their comfortable sprawl, glad that her son has finally found other people to rely on besides his parents.


End file.
